


Just one. After battle.

by ReyloTrashCompactor (NextToSomething)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Femslash SW Challenge, Height Differences, Rough Sex, Roughness, Smoking, and then back to enemies again, fighting to fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8614168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NextToSomething/pseuds/ReyloTrashCompactor
Summary: Rey always allows herself one cigarette after a battle, win or lose. Which is fortunate, considering she can’t determine if dallying with a captain of the First Order is a victory or a defeat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Femslash SW's first challenge on Tumblr! Thank you politicalmamaduck for looking this over for me (several times).

It was a short skirmish--quickly over with few but precise casualties. Rey sent the other Resistance fighters on, needing a moment before she headed back to base. She always needed a moment.

She plopped down on the ramp of the _Falcon,_ taking a pouch from her pocket. She pulled out a paper and filled it with the toasted leaf Poe had given her. 

_One after battle, Rey. To center you. Anything more and you’ll get dependent._

She rolled the cigarette with surprisingly steady hands. A little smear of blood--her own--stained the paper, but she licked and sealed it anyway. She tapped it on the heel of her boot a few times, packing it, then held it loosely between her lips. It took a few flicks to get the lighter to catch--another gift from Poe--but after a shake and a fourth flick, she lifted the flame to her mouth and pulled hard. Extinguish the light, pull away the cigarette, a quick breath in and the mouthful of smoke settles the buzz in her blood almost instantly.

Then she looked out over the muddy field. They only lost one, Mil, a young kid--younger than her--who’d been living and breathing the Resistance since he was born. Rey tried not to think of it, of how his parents would react when his limp body was laid before them to identify. There’d been injuries, of course, there always were. Rey rotated her own shoulder where a minor blaster burn was starting to stick, bloody and stinging, to her inner shirt. But they only lost the one.

The field before her was mostly littered with scuffed white armor. This was the advantage of, well, having the advantage. Rey had been able to suss them out with her hold on the Force, and the small battalion had paid dearly for it.

Rey took another pull on her cigarette.

She knew why Poe said she could only smoke after battle; Rey was nothing if not a creature of habit. She took to schedules and rules and regulations far too easily. Her life on Jakku was a wash of routine that she made for herself. Wake up, eat if she was able, assess her map of possible salvage locations, grid out her day, scavenge, barter, eat if she was able, tally, sleep. The steps and routine of rolling a fag was something that could become a vice for her quickly.

So, just one. After battle. Win or lose.

She inhaled again. When her smokey exhale began to clear, Rey saw a flicker out in the field before her. A flash of metal. Her heart lurched and she stood up, her eyes focused and steady. There was movement.

Rey clamped her cigarette between her lips and pulled her blaster from her hip. She didn’t want to get close enough to use her saber if she could help it. The closer she got, the clearer the picture became. The metal was the armor of their captain. The huge, chrome spectre with an eye for a longshot. 

The one that had shot Mil.

Rey approached the struggling soldier, her blaster trained. His back was to her and he was attempting to push up onto his side. 

Rey turned off the safety. 

Aimed for the sliver of neck exposed beneath his helmet.

And froze.

A clump of startlingly bright, yellow hair had fallen loose from the off-kilter helmet, curling slightly with sweat at the base of his neck. Something about this, the curl and the slice of milk-pale skin had her blaster trembling in her hand. The captain’s arm gave out beneath him and he fell back into the mud. A fresh ripple of blood trickled from a seam in his armor and flowed over the smudged metal.

The damp curl fluttered in the breeze.

Rey tucked her blaster in her belt and fell to her knees next to the chromed soldier. She tugged at the large, limp body, her still lit cigarette puffing tufts of smoke with each of her labored breaths. The captain was heavy.

Rey called on her hold on the Force, coiled it in her belly and focused it outward, using more strength than should be allotted her slight body to drag the soldier up the ramp of the _Falcon_ and down the cluttered hallway to the small medbay.

All the smaller now that the silver ‘trooper laid sprawled on the floor. Rey tossed her now spent cigarette and dropped again to her knees beside the captain. She tugged the helmet from his head and immediately dropped it.

She shouldn’t be surprised that a top officer in the First Order was a woman. She shouldn’t be at all surprised that a woman could look down the barrel of a blaster and shoot a kid like Mil. She shouldn’t be, but she was. No matter that General Organa was a woman and was the formidable head of the Resistance and that Rey herself was a woman and quickly climbing the piloting ranks of pilots. Rey simply hadn’t expected to see a woman’s face behind this mask.

The captain coughed and groaned, her eyes fluttering then squeezing shut. 

Grey. Or blue. Rey couldn’t tell. She wasn’t sure why that mattered. 

Rey set about removing the surprisingly heavy armor from the captain, looking for the source of the blood now streaking the floor.

_What are you doing what are you doing what are you doing?_

She prised off the chest plate, then tugged the back plate from beneath the woman. There was blood standing in the piece beneath her. The captain shifted, struggling again to sit up and Rey used a not-so-gentle push of the Force to keep her down on the floor. 

The captain’s eyes snapped open at this in realization, and, a second later, in fear. 

Rey had been right on both accounts. Grey, but also blue. 

“L-let me go--” the captain said, and Rey felt a shudder in her chest at the woman’s deep, affecting voice. 

“Not on your life, buckethead.”

Rey managed to tear off the right shoulder plate and was rewarded with a warm rush of blood. Blaster shot, straight through, right at a seam in the armor. The black mesh armor beneath was sticking in the raw wound, and Rey knew she’d never get the wound clean without getting that off. The other shoulder plate joined the first and Rey was tugging the garment up and away. There wasn’t a seam at the waist--the thing was apparently one connected garment.

Rey undid her own belt, quickly pressing the leather between the captain’s bared teeth, then reached again to the ripped fabric sticking in the wound. With a quick exhale and another restraining pulse of the Force, Rey set her nimble scavenger’s fingers to the rend in the fabric, plucking it indelicately from the gored shoulder wound. She heard the hard crackle of saliva as the captain hissed harsh breaths between her clenched teeth, but Rey didn’t falter. Once she had pulled the fabric from the wound, causing a fresh flow of blood, she set all of her strength into ripping the tough fabric further. 

The captain howled.

Rey was practically sitting on top of her at this point, useless as that was at their disparate sizes, but she did her best to hold her down with both Force and body. She ripped again, pulling until she was able to tug the rip into and through the neckline, then down over the captain’s chest. Her black chestband was askew and Rey tried not to see the dusky edge of the woman’s nipple partially exposed. A quick tug and Rey had the wrap was back in place.

Rey’s fingers were shaking and sticky with blood, but she reached above her for a bandage and a tube of bacta. Her frantic hands sent supplies showering down on the floor and the captain sprawled on it. The captain squeezed her eyes shut again, attempting to avoid the falling medical supplies and Rey hissed a sharp apology as the bacta tube fell hard on the woman’s brow.

She smeared the bacta over her fingers and reached to smear it over the captain’s shoulder.

A large, surprisingly strong hand closed over Rey’s wrist.

“Wh-what are you _doing?_ ” The captain asked.

“Hell if I know. Trying to heal your shoulder. You’re really bleeding.”

The hand holding her wrist twitched.

“ _Why?”_

Rey shook her head, trying to pull her wrist from the woman’s grip. She couldn’t really say _Your blonde hair made me do it._ Though that was about all the explanation that she honestly had.

The captain wasn’t going to let go of her wrist it seemed, so Rey pushed against her and applied the bacta to the woman’s shoulder through the durasteel grip. The captain was strong, but Rey was stronger. Right now, anyway. While the other woman was injured.

A conditional aspect which Rey was steadily working towards resolving.

The grip on her wrist didn’t slacken as Rey indelicately applied the salve. The captain’s back bowed however as the bacta began to scour and stitch back together the injury still slowly gurgling blood. Rey didn’t like bacta--couldn’t get used to it. She was used to the long slow painful of her body’s natural inclinations toward healing. Having something on hand that would speed the process up by weeks was disconcerting. 

At the furious grimace on the captain’s face, Rey considered that the woman might agree. 

It was when Rey went to apply a fresh dose of bacta that the captain flipped her onto her back. More of her loosened armor clattered to the floor and her shredded under armor flapped open to reveal a pale and extensive torso, hard muscle bunched and straining as she held Rey down. Her other hand found Rey’s other wrist and she pinned them high above her head.

“Pretty strong for such a little thing.”

“I’m not little,” Rey argued, her back bowing as she attempted to twist out of the captain’s hold. She held fast, and Rey could almost see her strength returning as the wound at her shoulder continued to stitch closed. “You’re just--kriffing--huge,” Rey grunted as she finally managed to roll to the side enough to get her elbow beneath her and then launch her shoulder into the captain’s sternum.

The captain rolled from her with a sharp explosion of breath and Rey was getting to her feet just as the captain kicked them from beneath her. She rolled into the fall, but quickly met with the opposite wall of the tiny medbay. She saw those greyblue eyes narrow with decision, watched her for a moment as the captain stripped off her gloves and the remainder of her tarnished armor. She thought she had Rey cornered.

Rey vaulted herself off the wall and into the captain’s bared middle. The woman’s skin was cool and slick with sweat. Rey tugged with all she had and threw herself on top of the woman, pinning her much the same as Rey herself had been pinned earlier. 

Knees planted outside the hips. Wrists held high above the head. A dose of the Force to hold her, big and strong as she was.

Though the woman had ridiculously long arms, so pinning them up and away brought Rey considerably closer to the panting soldier beneath her. Her yellow hair had fallen into her eyes and there were beads of sweat standing on her upper lip.

A lip that was thin and curled over bared teeth, barely a slice compared to her full lower lip.

Rey had a mad inclination to dip down and lick the sweat from her skin.

She forced her eyes up to meet the captains, and felt another mad impulse. One she followed.

Rey dipped into the captain’s mind. She didn’t much care for this, not since she experienced at Kylo Ren’s hands just how naked a truth could be when ripped, raw and unapologetic, straight from one’s mind. But those eyes the color of the stormclouds gathering over the field where Rey had pulled the captain from her own death made her crave raw and unapologetic.

She looked.

There are things that are kept at the front of the mind, like a greeting--or a barbed fence. Names, parents, homes, jobs, lovers. The things that are often written on a person’s face regardless.

_Phasma, no parents, no homes, only the job, only the First Order._

_No lovers, though this wisp of a girl on top of her was achingly pretty._

Rey snapped back, tumbling painfully out of the captain’s-- _Phasma’s--_ mind and back onto her haunches. She still held Phasma’s wrists in her hands, though now she held them awkwardly in front of her, not against the bloodsmeared floor. 

Phasma wasn’t struggling anymore. Instead, her eyes, wide and steady, were trained on where Rey held her: her hands, all long fingers and short nails and pale skin, oddly relaxed in Rey’s grip. As if all Rey would have to do is place these long, pale hands where she wanted them on her body, and let the captain take things from there.

Rey was suddenly craving a cigarette. Something to do with her hands. With her mouth.

_Just one. After battle. Win or lose._

Rey didn’t know why, whether it was that thin, curling upper lip, or the thunderclap eyes, or that yellow hair cut short and streaked with blood, but she placed the captain’s hands at her hips.

Absurd. An invitation for Phasma to toss her off and grab a weapon and be done with all this.

The captain’s hands gripped, and Rey felt a dizzying flash of fear before she felt herself again rolled onto her back.

Phasma didn’t pin her again, at least, not directly. But when that wide mouth set hard at Rey’s neck, she found she was just as immobilized as when the captain held her bracketed to the floor.

She was rucking up Rey’s clothing, hard enough to burn her skin with the fabric. Rey was clawing at her, bowing up into her hard, broad body.

A long fingered hand found Rey’s breast, and she shuddered when she began to pluck at her nipple. The captain pulled herself from Rey’s neck, likely a ruin of teeth marks and stippled bruises and set those both thin and full lips to her other breast.

A sound like ripping stuttered from Rey at this, and Phasma answered with a long lick up Rey’s sternum with the hot flat of her tongue.

“What’s your name?” Phasma asked before traveling back down to Rey’s breasts.

Rey tangled fingers in that yellow hair, stiff with sweat, before answering. 

“It’s Rey.”

Phasma laughed against Rey’s skin.

“Kylo Ren’s girl.”

“I’m not--” her words cut short at Phasma’s hand suddenly cupping her between her legs.

“I’m Captain Phasma,” she said as she bit--not kissed--her way down Rey’s body. “But you knew that already.”

Rey would blush with being found out if it weren’t for that damnable mouth sucking at the hollow inside her hip bone.

“Rey?”

She said her name so casually, like they weren’t on opposite sides of a war, like they weren’t currently brutalizing each other in a much more intimate battle.

“Yeah?”

Her pants were being dragged down her thighs and that mouth was drifting lower.

“I’m going to fuck you now.”

The statement, almost bland in its militant delivery, knocked the air right out of her. All Rey could do was nod stupidly. “All right, then.”

Everything else shifted into soft focus as Captain Phasma dipped her head and delved her tongue right into her.

She fucked her. Curled her tongue against her then dragged her mouth up to suck almost too hard on a place that only knew _reaction._ Then a finger, long and clever, slipping into her and making no fuss about crooking and pressing exactly where Rey wanted her to. Phasma wasn’t playing at this, and added another finger. Fucking her harder. Bringing about an end when Rey had barely realized there had been a beginning.

Rey felt her body baring down and Phasma hummed against her skin. The lightest, barest brush of teeth against her nub and Rey toppled over the edge. Phasma pressed her palm hard against Rey’s clit, fingers continuing to work her through her orgasm.

She vaguely registered that Phasma’s pressing palm had left her skin when Rey felt the barrel of the blaster jutting hard against the underside of her jaw.

Phasma’s fingers were still inside her.

Rey’s eyes shot open-- _when had she closed them?--_ and she looked up into Phasma’s serious face.

_Achingly pretty_ , is what she’d thought of Rey. _Terrifyingly beautiful,_ is what Rey thought of the woman with the blaster at her neck and her fingers still curled in Rey’s cunt.

“Thank you for saving me,” she said before gently pulling her hand away and standing. She still aimed the blaster down at her, though she was slowly backing away. Her black under armor was still pulled down to her waist, her breast band loose around her middle and her pale breasts exposed. Her fingers and her mouth were wet and her eyes snapped from one end of Rey’s body to the other.

“Don’t let it happen again,” she warned before tugging her clothes somewhat into place and walking purposefully from Rey’s ship.

Rey tugged at her own clothes--her shirts rucked up to her underarms and her pants knotted at her knees.

She clattered through the chromium armor still scattered on the floor of the medbay and flung herself into the pilot seat of the _Falcon_. Through the windscreen, she saw a TIE fighter roughly ascend and then dart off into the storm rolling in.

Rey didn’t know what to think as she watched the ship flicker out of sight. She shifted in her chair, pleasantly sore and damp and sated. Her fingers itched for a cigarette and she stood, stumbling down the hallway and fishing her pouch out of the mess that was the medbay.

She plopped down on the floor, rolling the fag with shaking fingers. Taking a long drag when she finally managed to get the thing lit.

_Win or lose, right?_

**Author's Note:**

> Please take a moment and tell me what you thought! I appreciate and welcome any and all feedback.


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